Of Ends and Beginnings
by Tantz
Summary: Snape has to help Harry get rid of ugly, suspicious nightmares by making him stay awake. Post-Voldemort, sequel to 'After the End' BETAed. **Complete**
1. Of Dress Codes

Chapter 1 

insert usual disclaimer about not owing Harry Potter and Associates 

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Chapter I 

It is all so different. Awkward, perhaps, is the better word. Because although nothing has changed in the castle grounds and the building itself, everything else is painfully different. Hogwarts has a Headmistress now; Albus is a portrait winking and offering a lemon drop. Fawkes, his phoenix, has gone away, most possibly forever. 

Ironically enough, all the staff is intact save Trelawney, but nobody will miss that old bag since she conveniently turned into a ghost. Fortunately, a new Divination Professor has been hired, by the name of Pythia Veris. She looks tired and worn, much like Lupin does, which somehow makes me trust her abilities and her calibre much more than I expected. 

It is the first day today. The first day of the first year post-Voldemort. The first year in which the wizarding world breathes clean air. And also, the first year in which the greatest wizard of all time, and my mentor, will not breathe at all. It's a quiet pain, throbbing dully in me, that never stops. I believed that I had gotten over it, that I did not care. But that is not true, unfortunately. Every single morning attacks me with the realisation that many that I hold dear are gone forever, along with much that I have hated more than a person should safely abhor. That fills me with numbness that implies turbulence, just like the slight poisons that lull you to sleep before they kill you. 

But unfortunately my own heart keeps beating. I coil the scarf around my neck and stuff my hands in my coat pockets as I walk out into the powder snow, a dark blotch against unmarred terrain. It's funny. I wore black the day Lily passed. I always thought I'd take the non-colour off and never wear it again the day Voldemort was vanquished. 

But now there seems to be no other colour left for me to wear. I tried wearing green, or blue, or even grey. I look ridiculous in it. The moment I saw myself in white robes, I started sobbing. It was fortunate that I was safely in my chambers and protected from any prying ear. After all, still nobody thinks me capable of crying, or breaking, of not holding up against pain. 

It is a glorious day, as befits the birth of a new era, hopefully much more peaceful and calm than the one just gone. I walk to Albus' grave as I do every day, just like I never came near it during the first week after his death. I am mildly surprised to find anyone there this early, in this cold. But find one I do. 

It just had to be Potter. 

He's wearing black. All black. There is no trace of colour on his clothes. I find this disturbing. Nobody should feel the abysmal sorrow that compels you to wear such absolute darkness. 

I was under the impression that one bat was enough for one castle, Potter," I tell him dryly, suddenly, and he jumps. I can see he has been crying, looking at the marble tomb. 

"P-professor." 

"That would be correct. Why are you up so early, and dressed so poorly for this cold? I thought there was some ounce of brains in that head of yours." 

My voice can't be nearly as cutting and severe as it used to be and yet he flinches. I swallow and my eyes shift to the grave. I start feeling guilty again for my ways. But he truly is poorly dressed. 

"Well, since you will not take a hike or conjure a bloody jacket, here," I tell him, trying to make my voice endearing even as I peel off my coat and drape it around his shoulders. It is not practiced to such tones, however, and the best way one could describe it is gruff. Harry looks up at me with his bright green eyes that are so sad. 

"Thank you, Professor," he says quietly. 

"You should not be wearing black, Potter," I hear myself saying. He smirks. 

"Why not? Have you cornered the market?" 

I frown down at the top of his head at his insolence. I hate it when they talk back to me, when they make me explain further, when they do not just get the point and save me the trouble and strain of opening up more than I choose to. 

"Take it as an order, Potter." 

"Coming from--" 

"--the Headmaster Albus Dumbledore." I cut him off and with my fingers under his chin make him face me and lock his gaze with mine, something that I have a feeling he is not entirely keen on doing. His breath catches. I plod on, forcing myself to talk. 

"It is his order, Potter. When he died he did it so that you and every child and man and woman would live free and happy. And when he ordered me to stop looking sour with his last, dying breath, the least I can do is prevent the castle from getting filled up with angsty little adolescents that let themselves sink into depression." 

Harry frees his head from my touch, and huddles more inside my coat, which is about a size or two too large for him. His shoulders hunch and I see him take off his glasses while holding them with the same hand to cover his eyes. 

I am getting damn cold without the coat, and I can't wait for Potter to have his fill of misery before I persuade him to get inside. I am about to use my wand on the boy to get him to warmth, when I hear his voice, hushed: 

"You still look sour, Professor." 

I feel considerably closer to him for some odd reason. There was a covert camaraderie in Harry's voice, a tone of familiarity I would never expect to hear in a voice addressing me. It is a tone that soothes somewhat the dulled pain that throbs in my soul. It makes me reply to him with a considerably less scathing remark than an observation like that would require from me. 

"And that will definitely not be remedied with you here wallowing in misery and me turning slowly into ice. So move it, Potter. Back inside. Now." 

Blissfully enough, Potter obeys me. For now, at least. 

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Comments, please! 


	2. Of Headaches

You think evil is gone because Voldie is gone? *cackles* 

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I am starting to believe that I shall never have peace, that I shall never feel the warmth of safety. I do not know what hag cursed me at my birth, but if I ever do find her, she'll mourn the day she met me. 

But if I had hoped for peace after everything that went on, it wasn't granted to me. I got roused in my sleep by heavy pounding on the Slytherin common room door. I try to ignore it and enjoy my newly found capacity to sleep unheeded, but it only gets louder and louder. I am forced to abandon my bedcovers and get ready to hex whoever has the audacity not to get a hint of why the door is not opening in the first place. 

It had to be Potter. Far be it from me to hex the Boy-Who-Lived. 

"What is it, Potter, that can't wait until the morning?" 

Potter is holding his forehead. He pulls his hand away and I feel as if my heart stops. I never expected to see that happen again. 

Potter's lightning-shaped scar is bleeding. The boy collapses and I only just have time to catch him before he hits the floor. 

Why do I have to be the one to salvage the damn Golden Boy all the time? Why does all evil revolve around him? It is something I will never understand. 

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short and sweet. I hear what you make of it. Oh, and Voldemort is dead as a doornail, I hate snake mugs. SO what d'you think is happening? 


	3. Of Dark Spirits

Here I come with a larger (hopefully) and new chapter in what I WILL make into an adventure. It isn't healthy to wallow in angst even for people like Snape. I need to give him something to do. 

As for my reviewers: 

Barbara: You are making sense, and I know what you are talking about. That is part of what I am trying to portray here. Besides, this version of Snape is a considerably evolved one. 

t.a.g.: Hm. A few, I should think. But whether they'd stay united after a final end to their sect/movement/voldie-worship, I doubt they'd go against Hogwarts. Not yet anyway. 

JaimynsFire: The scar is reacting to intense dark magic/evil... I doubt it will ever stop doing so... ofcourse, Potter could just have cut himself in his sleep with a razor. heh. 

Now on with the story. 

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"Is it Voldemort? Potter?" I am trying to get through to the boy thrashing in my hands and trying to avoid any kind of contact. It is getting harder and harder to dodge kicks and punches as I carry the boy to my bed. 

His scar is bleeding more and more, until it appears as if an artery is gushing from his forehead and drenching the pillow, the sheets, everything. The first thing I feel the impulse to do is call Poppy. Then call Albus. Then I remember that they are both dead and instead I call for Minerva. At least, I yell at whatever house-elf is lurking nearby to get Minerva here or else. 

It is the first time I hate that there are no students in the dorms. I am not sure anyone actually heard me. And once more I have to deal with a Potter Emergency all by myself. The brat doesn't seem prepared to stop bleeding on his own. 

However did you manage it this time, you miserable little twerp? 

I point my wand to his forehead and run a quick scan of his brain. I was afraid he would be in a stupor, but it seems that not only is he not unconscious, he is actually in an alternate state of consciousness. I cannot tell what it is he is seeing. At least he has not been thrashing at me. 

I do not want him to have an aneurysm, however, or a stroke, so I mutter a calming charm. He gasps and shrieks, his eyes flashing open, unseeing, with an inner light I definitely don't like to see in his pupils. I know dark magic when I see it. Even when I would give anything never to recognise it again in my life. I mutter _Finite Incantatem_ before he suffocates himself with all the gasping. 

Pushing any questions to the back of my mind in order to answer them later, when Potter is healthy and properly chastised, I contemplate how to help the boy. I can't stop the bleeding or coax his mind out of the stupor with any charm that the Light condones. This calls for a surge of power far stronger and harsher, a command for the keys to the boy's consciousness to be relinquished to me. I sigh and point my fresh, new wand at Potter. 

"_Imperio Cognitas,_" I mutter, and instantly, Potter goes slack. His mind is linked to my own, only I hold the command. I have to order Potter's mind to do what it needs to, and if it takes a variation of Imperio to do it, then so be it. 

[You need either commas after both 'stabbings' and 'screams' in the third sentence, or commas after neither.] Unfortunately, this version of Imperio links you to your target's mind completely. And I feel the pain. I feel the stabbings, and the screams and the despair. Then I see. I see the dark power pulsing, rabid around me, even though I know it is not me, trying to rob me of my energy, trying to possess me and my power, although I know it is not my power that it is after. 

Why Potter, of all people? 

The boy's consciousness is overwhelmed, and the only thing he feels is the pain of resisting the dark influence. I grab his arms, and then I hold him close to me. 

"Stun it, Potter," I snap at him, and he whimpers at me rubbish about Diggory and Granger and his deserved demise. 

"Fine," I tell him and I order him to wake up. I push him away from the darkness that doesn't seem to affect me as much as it does Potter's psyche, and put mine between them. Potter's image disappears from the plain. The dark creature is enraged, and it suddenly directs its attention to me. But there is no time left for it to attack me. The Imperio Cognitas helps me anchor to reality, and finally my quarters' surroundings materialise again, and I find myself looking in Harry's eyes in a lock of stares that he cannot break. 

"_Finite Incantatem"_ I sigh, and immediately I feel relief not to be linked to anyone, even if I have the upper hand. 

"Whatever is going on, Severus? What is Harry doing down here?" 

In any other occasion in the past, only Albus' reassurance that I had not the faintest intention of molesting the Potter boy would she not curse me within an inch of my life. But after everything that has transpired, she is only looking at me like an extremely ruffled, worried mother hen. 

"He is drenching my bedsheets, as you can well see. At least he's deigned to stop," I describe the obvious to her, then proceed to wake Harry up. He moans and is reluctant, but in the end I charm him awake. 

He blinks at me, bewildered. 

"Do you have any recollection of the past hour, Potter?" I ask him quickly. He just stares at me. I try again. 

"Are you deaf or is the question too complicated for your intellect?" 

He shakes his head as if trying to shake images away, and Minerva glares at me as she sits at the edge of my bed and rubs Potter's back. He leans against her and starts to cry. I watch for a while until I start feeling decidedly ridiculous. But then something makes me suspicious. Through his tears, Harry is falling asleep again. 

Potter might be a twerp and a horrible sample of a student, but he is not the type that falls asleep on his feet anywhere except in History classes where it is normal. 

"Wake up, Potter!" I snap at him and he shoots upwards so fast he nearly head butts into Minerva's chin. That would be interesting to watch. But I am starting to see a pattern here. A pattern that I have to break until we can figure out what to do with the new foul entity to plague Potter. 

I get a potion from my personal stash and mix it with a quasi-elixir to reverse its effects. I make the boy drink it. 

"This will keep you awake even if you should be sleeping," I tell him, and both he and Minerva are looking at me oddly. But Minerva thankfully doesn't need ALL the t's crossed. 

"Why must he remain awake, Severus?" 

"Because if he falls asleep, he will die," I state calmly. After all, there is nothing better than the truth, is there? 

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Comments? Reactions? *waits to catch 'em* 


	4. Of Dark Magic

Hi again! Don't you just love me for updating every day? I am spoiling you. Snape would never approve, really. 

As for my reviewers: 

Lee Lee Potter: He is not Headmaster yet. It would be quite improbable for him to even think of taking the position of the person he is mourning and looking up to. Snape hates to feel inadequate, and he'd feel inadequate in Albus' shoes.... yet anyway. 

t.a.g.: Yep, no Death munchers this time, not yet. I was trying to conceptualise a very specific consequence from Voldie's defeat. *clamps mouth* there I go giving you hints. And I like Snape-mentors-Harry stories too. 

The Dark Luna Angel: Of course I am going to write more. But if I was on the dark side, I'd let you squirm some more... *very evil grin* 

Mindel: The chapters will not be longer. They are all meant to be at the most 3 word processor pages, except for chapter 2. Sorry bout that. This is NOT going to be slash. I am not a fan of slash at all, really. Neither can I write such a relationship convincingly. As for Harry, he wouldn't be Harry if there wasn't something about him ALL the time, would he? 

Angel Baby: It's not even REMOTELY a serious cliffhanger! Geez! *chuckles* what will happen to you in later chapters!? 

tir-synni: Thank you very much! I try to please. 

Now for the new chapter... 

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I hate debriefings. They are usually unnecessarily lengthy, not easy to hear or do, and cause high emotional pain on the side of the one doing it. And usually they are done in a place where most of the participants feel uncomfortable. 

In our case, we are in Albus' office. Or, to be more precise, in Minerva's office. I have to keep reminding myself that she is the Headmistress now. I am sitting in my usual armchair, and Potter is sitting in his. Minerva has changed few things in the circular room. It is both comforting and distressing in the same time. I am careful not to stare at Albus' painting. He, however, is doing nothing of the sort, virtually hanging out of his frame trying to catch my glance. 

Blast you, Albus. 

"So, Harry. Why don't you tell me and Professor Snape what exactly happened to you?" Minerva starts gently. It is obvious that Harry is still dizzy and the visions he was plagued with still haunt his awareness. But he shifts and sighs. 

"Well, Headmistress-" 

The boy is cut off by yet another wizard bursting through. Lupin. I was wondering what took him so long. But then I notice how he is almost crawling to reach us, and how pale and sweaty he looks. I remember offhandedly that it was the full moon today, and the wolfsbane potion does not screen the after-effects of the shifting. I say nothing. 

"What was I saying?" Harry asks. I hate to see him like he has been smoking too much pot. It worries me, and I do not like to worry. 

"You haven't said anything yet, Potter. Pull yourself together!" I snap at him, and he flinches. Lupin glares at me. 

"Can't you be any less merciless, you miserable twit!?" the werewolf tells me. 

"Will you both calm down and be quiet?" Minerva interjects, and just as well because I would have replied in a most vindictive manner, and I would have regretted it. Potter blinks himself to focus and speaks faintly. 

"It was as if I could not wake up. There was this odd cloudy black mass of energy going after me, wanting to, uh, drain me. I don't know what it is and I know it sounds like just a nightmare. But it was whispering odd things in my ear. Like parseltongue, but not quite," he explained from Lupin's supporting embrace. 

Every eye turns to me. Lupin is still picking up the story, and it is obvious he doesn't know what to make of it yet to be an active part in the discussion. I take a deep breath. 

"I don't know what spirit it is. But I know what spell it is trying to use on Potter. I felt it, and I saw him struggle against it." 

They are all squirming as I pause for effect. I know that is not at all commendable. But I am human after all, and it -is- somewhat rewarding to see them all waiting for my expertise, or my opinion, with such anticipation. But I am unlucky enough to glance at Albus' portrait, and I jump to the continuation of my narrative. 

"It is the Anima Vaccus." I swallow. Perhaps it wasn't pausing for effect that I had been doing. The spell name tastes horribly. Minerva gasps and Lupin looks even more ill than before. He stutters, and Lupin stuttering is rather irritating. 

"That- that is more or less... the Dementor's Kiss..." 

"More or less. It empties the body of its rightful soul and replaces it with the caster's. That's Darker magic than that of Voldemort's," Minerva is saying gravely. I glance at Harry. The boy looks scared out of his wits. I recall that he is aware of what a person who has received the Dementor's Kiss looks like. I feel a pang of sorrow. I know how it feels to be expecting it, to be on its receiving end. I can totally remember those days. My eyes were just as haunted. 

I put my hand on his shoulder, and he looks at me. 

"We won't let that happen to you, Harry. And as long as you don't sleep, you are safe from that. That spirit can only touch you when you are asleep and can be ousted from your body more easily." 

He nods. 

"Yes, Professor." 

How does he manage to make me feel responsible for this? His voice is so void of emotion, caught by fear. My words do not bring the least confidence back in his glance. How could Black do it with just a toying of his eyebrows? The mere thought of the inadequacy makes me flare up again. 

"Yes, Professor? That is all you have to say for yourself?" 

"Severus, will you stop. You won't help that way," Lupin says calmly. I hate it when he is calm while I am angry. And so I do what I always do when he is calm and I am not. 

I storm out of the office. There is a slight satisfaction and twang of reminiscence in walking so fast in a swishing of the robes and marching in a straight line. 

It feels almost as if I ran off because Albus made me take a lemon drop when I wanted to gut the occasional student for several reasons. It feels nice. 

But I am not marching in a straight line. I am marching to the library, where I need to see what I can do to shield Harry from the Anima Vaccus. A spell, charm, potion. Especially a potion. There has to be. I need it to be. 

It would be most inconvenient to have to invent one for the occasion. 

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there you go. More information. 


	5. Of Locations

Hello all, again! The plot starts to thicken here. I am going to drop the first real hints about what is going on (unless I pull a Hagrid trick and just blurt it all out... but then I wouldn't qualify for Slytherin, and I always get sorted there!) 

As for my reviewers: 

Katriana: I am very flattered that I make the cut in your book ;) 

The Dark Luna Angel: I look the type, don't I eh? *now knows how Severus feels for always being considered the culprit for everything. Yet here I am, uploading every single time I get online. I am glad you like the way I write Snape. hehehe. 

t.a.g.: Yep, it is definately not Voldemort. The old Moldy is dead, buried, cremated, whatever they did to get rid of the muck he inhabited while he was still alive. heh. 

Jaimynsfire: More Lupin eh? Are you sure? I don't write a good Lupin. But I will try for your sake, although Snape here, who's watching over my houlder is telling me to 'call the silly woman's bluff' *ducks* 

Elizabeth Bathory: I am glad you like the story. I can't make the chapters longer, because I get tired after more than 3 pages and then Snape starts to drawl and wander off the point to other things, and he really becomes a pest rather than a narrator: in short, I can't keep it all tied up and moving along fast. As for more description, since it is through Snape's eyes, he wouldn't be describing in detail a place he is highly familiar with, nor a situation (such as Harry soaking his bed with blood) highly distressing to him. But I will try to give some more details, if I can squeeze them in. 

by the way... what does rnrnrn mean!? 

Now, on to the story 

__________ 

The next house elf that comes asking me to eat something will be hexed out of the window and will not land until it has circumnavigated the globe twice. They are driving me mad! I am not hungry, or thirsty, or interested in any sort of pudding. But I am surrounded by imbeciles, or at least those disrespectful to my need, my utter need for concentration. 

"Professor Snape?" 

Speaking of which... Weasley. I do hope he is not here with more issues about his emotional state. 

"Can't you see I am working, and working hard, Weasley? What is it?" The sound of my voice comes so forced through my clenched teeth that it resembles parseltongue. 

"Sir, I was wondering..." 

My nerves are frazzled. That is why I cannot tolerate any sound, and that includes Weasley blabbering. 

"I don't care what you are wondering, Weasley. I don't have time for musings of deranged minds. I am far too busy racing the clock here to save your illustrious friend from getting kicked out of his body, so to speak, so I would be most grateful if you just _were on your way_." 

Weasley's face falls, but I care not. He leaves and I go back to my mouldy book. It has to be at least 50 years old and its author favoured fancy language. My head is throbbing. If a house elf is not sufficiently traumatised and dares approach me again, I will send it to get me a headache relieving potion. 

I write down in normal English what I learn, which is not much. 

_Most potent dark wizards were known to strive for immortality. It almost seems a common pattern, along with ruling the world they live in. Psyche Logaris looked into the matter of those advent Dark Arts users in 1946, and discovered that although they were quite potent in their magic usage, they seemed to be governed by something even higher than logic and common sense. She examined the wand of Grindelwald and found that not only there was a strong aura of darkness resonating, but also something even darker that seemed to be controlling the very core of the wand. She therefore put forward the unsupported and highly contested hypothesis that perhaps all truly evil overlords that actually did threaten the wizarding world with their power were not governed exclusively by their own impulses and wishes, and thus were led to making errors that at times were not characteristic of their intelligence._

This is all very interesting, but it is not pointing me to a clear direction of solving the problem at hand. Although, at the back of my mind, something is nagging me. The passage -is- pointing at a direction, at a particular step to take. There is a phrase in the small resume I had written that I cannot get off my mind: They were led to making errors uncharacteristic of their intelligence. 

I shut the book and get up. Looking outside, I blink. The sun is at exactly the same level as when I entered the library. I obviously have been here more than a few minutes so... is it possible that I just spent 24 hours straight in the library? 

As I come out, I bump into Minerva. Just my luck. I was planning to go crash for only a few minutes, just so that the letters would stop dancing on the pages. I say nothing, just look at her, with a decidedly stoic expression, I am sure. She looks anxious. 

"Severus, I can't find Harry." 

"What do you mean, you can't find him? He is in--", I cut off when my eyes meet hers. Oh, they didn't. "-- he is not in the infirmary. Who let him off?" 

"He just walked away, Severus. Remus is already looking for him. I don't know where he is." 

That doesn't sound comforting, and it certainly is not soothing to the nerves. I barely hear myself as I walk off snapping to Minerva, with no respect for her being Headmistress whatsoever, "And I suppose we run this place like a freaking hotel! I wouldn't be surprised if every remaining Death Eater came in here, dined and plundered, then left and we wouldn't even find his calling card!" 

However much we search, in all the castle and even Hogsmeade, there is no trace of Potter. I get an idea then. I grab Lupin's arm, and he looks at me, aloof and pale. 

"Lupin." I growl, virtually, but he is not paying attention to me. I shake him a little. 

"Lupin, this is important! Do you still have that infernal Map? Does the boy have it?" 

I would never be caught dead going through Potter's stuff in his dormitory, but Minerva and Remus do, and they find that loathed paper. It had, most of the times, been what had given Black the leverage to play pranks on me and avoid those that I tried to pull on him. 

Instinctively, when Lupin comes forward with it, I take a step back. That brings a rather irritating light in the werewolf's eyes. He points his wand and says the once-desired password to the thing. 

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good." 

We all peer into the outline of the castle, as Remus orders it to show each level. There is no sign of Harry in all the levels down to ground floor. Even in the dungeons. I am ready to give up and start to just shriek his name until he somehow hears me, when Lupin gets an idea. 

"Wait. There is one place we have not checked. _Revelo Camara_." 

The whole paper is painted an inky black, with oblong spaces connecting each other. All three of us paled. I did not know what to think. Harry Potter's dot appeared, and it was not moving. 

Harry was in the Chamber of Secrets. 

__________ 

Do not even try to convince me you expected that.... 


	6. Of Chambers

Merry Christmas Everyone! Hope you are having fun. 

As for my reviewers: 

Wink at J00: Request granted! 

JaimynsFire: Me, demented? JUST, demented? I was hoping for something stronger. hehe. As for Snape, he's testing his baits. *chuckle* 

t.a.g.: Not directly to Salazar Slytherin, because I am not entirely certain what this guy Salazar was all about. The books don't give us such a big idea of what he was exactly save for a rather one-sided person. *coughs* But there is a good reason why Harry is there, that Snape has to figure out, true enough. You are getting close. Kind of. *chuckles* 

On with the story. 

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We could not get in. Although the passage was now known, it was impossible to get inside. No professor can speak parseltongue, and that is the only way the door to the Chamber would open. Building frustration made me swear about Potter and his abilities, earning glares from both Minerva and Lupin. 

But blast Potter and his Parseltongue! How the hell can I save him when I cannot even get inside the place he is? He could very well be dead already, and all I am doing is casting random charms at a sink like an idiot. Lupin puts a hand on my wand arm. 

"Severus, it is no use. We will not get into the chamber through the front door," he says, and I lower my wand even if I scowl, because I know the bloody werewolf is right. There is dripping from a toilet drain or pipe that is not allowing me to concentrate, as if wanting to tell me something. But I don't know what. I feel like kicking the sink. 

"Is there no other way to get there that is accessible without Parseltongue?" Minerva is asking. I am quick to answer, as a let out to my frustration more than anything. 

"Rest assured, Minerva, that had there been any other way to the Chamber I would already be using it even if I had to crawl through it, rather than be here and listening to mindless prattle." 

My voice is scathing and resentful, and I see that it makes Minerva flinch. It was not proper of me to speak that way when in all accords there was no prattle between us three at all. I shut my eyes in the silence, interrupted only by the dripping of one faulty toilet drain. I should not have said that. But it is far more difficult to control my tongue when I am sleepless and worried beyond measure with things I feel are slowly slipping out of control. 

"Severus, anger won't help y--" 

"Hush!" I cut Lupin off, but with no venom this time. Finally, I can clutch at a hope, even if it is not entirely appealing. Drains! Pipes! Wasn't that what the basilisk from the Chamber was using to get around and back to the Chamber? There IS another way in. Without telling anyone why I am doing it, I curse a toilet to smithereens. And not just the toilet. Its drain, too, so that I will be able to fit through it. Moaning Myrtle emerges screeching, but for some reason, she flees when she sees me. Perhaps word got around that I know ghost-affecting charms. 

Lupin and Minerva stare at me as I lower myself into the pipe. 

"Severus, what on EARTH are you doing?" Minerva asks me in that irritated way she used with me when I would refuse to understand how to transfigure a rat in a cup. I look up at her. 

"I said I would crawl if I have to, and I shall. I am going into the Chamber; that is what I am doing. Lupin, either give me that infernal map or follow." 

Of course, Remus wordlessly lowered himself down behind me. I do not want to describe what we had to crawl through, but I can attest to its being smelly, slightly squishy and disgusting. By the time I was out of the drain pipes and into the ones no longer in use, I was positively rabid from all the anger and the ruminations of what would befall our charming Mr. Potter when I got my hands on him. My currently rather filthy hands on him. 

The Chamber was musty and damp. It didn't help in lifting my mood any. 

"We are in the by tunnels, Severus." Lupin's croaky voice indicated he was as suffocated by noxious smells as I was--probably more so, considering his acute senses. I nod, rather impatiently. 

"Which way to Potter, quickly, Lupin, we don't want him to rot in here!" I snap at him. He looks up from the map, again with that hurt look in his eyes I had managed not to provoke since that day I brought Potter in from the battlefield. That look that makes me feel I have let down Albus. I growl as he points, and walk past him. I don't have the time or energy to give to apologies. Let's hope he understands I did not mean it. 

I find myself in a duelling hall flanked with snake heads. It is quite intimidating even to me. I can only imagine what it would have looked like to a second-year. I look around for Harry. 

"Potter! Enough is enough! You will come out right this minute!" 

My voice reverberates off the walls, and there is no reply, no reaction to my call. It scares me, and I do not scare easily. But I had thought that I had left all mortal perils behind me, that danger would never be so high around the students or myself after Voldemort. At least not so soon. I get my wand out and clutch it as hard as I used to when I still bore the Mark. 

"_Lumos!_" 

The Chamber is illuminated. At the far end, I can discern a nebulous mass pulsing around something I can't see. But my feeling of foreboding grips my heart and sends chills down my spine. I run there, and as I approach, the light from my wand clears up the darkness and I can see better. 

It is Harry, and he is standing straight, as if someone Petrified him. But he is not petrified. He is staring straight ahead and gasping for breath as he is surrounded by what seems to be a dark cloud. It pulsates angrily about him, and it keeps licking him like flames lick a log that won't be burned just yet. Wisps of it try to penetrate him, sharp like daggers, and every time, Harry flinches or moans, but is unable to do anything else, and every time the wispy blade is denied access into the boy's body. 

I do not exactly know what it is that I am seeing, but I am certain this is dark magic out of the ordinary. I point my wand at it, uncertain of what to cast against it initially, but then I decide to do what I know will get the creature's attention a bit. 

"_Expecto Patronus!"_

I watch as my silvery basilisk attacks the dark cloud of a creature. It does attract its attention. But, unlike in the case of dementors, it does not disappear. Instead, it engulfs the Patronus and consumes it. I am ready to cast it again, but it seems I have somehow angered the entity, which leaves Harry and assaults me instead. 

I never thought that through all the morbidness of my life and the several occasions I have been subjected to the proximity of several dementors, I would still have to experience the feeling of utmost pain, despair and horror. I feel all the pain I felt in my life, but amplified. I feel all the horror I have seen, but through my victims' eyes. I feel my heart straining as if under crucio. But that is not the worst of the thing. The worst is that I see... I see what it wants to do, and I visualise it. I live it in the few seconds I am under its spell. This is not a regular entity. And it wants me punished by eradication. 

"_Arte Nigra Incantae!_" 

And the pain lifts. My vision clears. I am staring up at a steadfast Remus Lupin, eyes shining wide with anger and defiance, standing between both me and Harry, protecting. The mass of darkness screeches. Remus keeps the silvery net coming from his wand, barring the entity until it disappears. 

The ensuing silence is deafening. I am still getting my bearings when Remus calls my name. 

"Severus, you need to help me. Harry is under severe shock. I dare not use any spell on him." 

"He must not fall asleep!" I croak. Every inch of my body is shaking. 

"He is unconscious, I'm afraid." Lupin says. Apparently he has no idea how this is positively lethal. 

"No! We have to wake him! Now! Right now!" I clamber on my knees and get to the boy. He is a bloody mess again, from all the bleeding from his scar. But that is not what scares me. It is the fact his eyes are half open. I put my hand to his carotid. The pulse is irregular but strong. 

I shed more light against his face to inspect him, and the boy shuts his eyes. He is not unconscious, thank whoever is responsible. 

"Potter. Can you hear me?" I ask in a low voice. He slurs something I do not understand, but at least he tries to respond. I pull out one of the potions I always have on me. You can never be too energetic in a school, especially if the school is Hogwarts without Albus. The boy breathes more easily as it goes into his system and gets the much-needed energy boost. Harry is more alert. His eyes are haunted by fear. 

"How.... how did I get here?" he mutters as Remus and I help him up. 

Remus looks chagrined and worried. 

"I am afraid that you came here in a trance of some sort, Harry. This is quite serious. I had to use the strongest banishing charm I knew that remotely fitted what was attacking you, and it still gave a worthy fight." 

"What does it want with me?" Harry asks in a young voice. 

"I don't know, Harry," Lupin says gently. But I do. And I hear myself explain, as each word gets the migraine a few notches stronger. 

"It wants -you-, Mr. Potter. It wants you as its host." 

There is a stunned silence from both Lupin and Potter. Then Harry angrily retorts. 

"I have a -name-!" 

I do not understand why he is so flustered. 

"Yes, and I called you by it." 

"You tell me all these things, and you are so... so... so calm! How can you call me by my last name when you tell me that I am still not done with Dark Magic?" 

Harry's voice amplified by the echo in this place is madness. Remus comes to my rescue. 

"Harry, be reasonable. It is very straining for all of us. Why don't we get out of here and talk about it in a cozier place?" 

Fortunately, Lupin conjured up two brooms and we flew back. Harry was brooding and would only ride with Lupin. He is still brooding, curled up in the armchair in the Main Hall, and sullenly drinking hot chocolate. I want to slap him to his senses. But the brat is so frail and with dark circles under his eyes and that bandage around his head... it worries me that the scar won't stop bleeding now. I contain my frustration by pacing. 

"Happy now, Potter? I am not calm now. I am on the verge of being violent! Is this a more appropriate reaction to your plight? Does it change anything?" I snap at him as Remus is trying with his eyes to warn me not to. 

"Yes it does!" Harry yells back at me. The he sips his chocolate and says in an embarrassed voice, "It makes me feel I am not a coward." 

"You are such a child still, Harry." I am careful of my wording as I sink down on a chair. I feel so tired. 

____________________ 

double Christmasy rations... 


	7. Of Requests and Old Houses

Hi! I am back again, with more Snape, Harry, Remus... and the rest of the survivors. Hope you have a Happy New Year! 

As for my reviewers: 

Lady Lunar Phoenix: I come to disprove your hypothesis... New installment, AFTER you encouraged me to write! 

Joyce: I feel warm at heart to have earned Snape a sympathetic soul. Heh. 

Na Rain cy na Ra: Well, I doubt that the evil of the Universe will just evaporate because one lousy mutated overlord got killed, wouldn't you think so? 

Nemo Sequester: Your wish is my command. The more the wishes, the faster the command is carried out. 

Now on with the story! 

____________ 

Thank goodness for potions. The organism seems to give priority to the effect of a potion rather than that of a charm. It was what saved Harry from the Anima Vaccus, because it prevented him from falling asleep, thereby rendering him incapable of fighting for his soul and possession of his body. 

But the sleeplessness potion did not save him from the dark creature's rage. 

I watch him from where I am sitting, trying to find anything on the Anima Vaccus apart from the usual description. He is curled up in front of the fire, shivering and staring at it with bloodshot eyes. His stamina is going down fast, and if I keep feeding him the potion for too long, his body will just shut down, and then all will have been in vain. I dare not leave him alone anymore. Either I or Lupin are always with him, to help him in case he slips into another trance. 

It worries me that his scar never stops bleeding. The creature is relentlessly biding its time, waiting for the chance to attack the boy. I am perfectly certain that, like me, it knows that this unnatural complete awareness of Harry's is bound to end. Soon. 

Just as well I can work under pressure. I have had endless practice. 

The boy seems to feel I am staring at him, and he turns warily to me. He looks so worn. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself with a straight face. Potter cannot see my worry. I cannot add to his worries. And I do not want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me so vulnerable. It is a question of prestige, at least. 

"Have you found it, Professor?" he says in a hoarse whisper. 

"I have told you Potter, that should I find the way not to babysit you 24 - 7, you shall be the first to be informed," I tell him, but I can't make my voice biting. Not when Lily's eyes are looking at me with quiet despair, as if I am the last hope that is dwindling. 

"Professor..." Harry's voice breaks. 

"Yes?" 

"I won't make it. Promise me something, please, Professor." 

I have the distinct impression I will not like what I am about to hear. 

"Don't start the pity trip, Potter. You are going to make it and live on to tear down Hogwarts with your rule breaking." 

He doesn't take notice. Shutting his eyes, he takes a deep breath and I do not interrupt him this time. 

"Professor. Promise me. I know you keep every single promise you give... please... promise me that... that if I don't make it... you kill me before it... takes me." 

It makes my eyes feel like hot needles are going through them. I even have to try to find my voice. 

"Don't go there, Harry." 

But the damn Golden Boy is relentless. 

"Promise me, Professor Snape. If you ever loved anyone. If you ever cared about anyone." 

It is all I can do not to cover my face, not to avert my eyes or bite my lips, to stay composed and calm. If I ever loved anyone. 

So be it. For Lily. 

"I promise, Harry." 

From the boy's shut eyes, tears roll down. Tears of relief. Why does life, nature, anything that controls our destinies, allow that a boy cry in relief because someone promises to kill him? It is unfair. It is not right. 

I will not let it last. I get up abruptly. 

"Lupin is coming as we speak, Harry." I inform him and he opens his eyes again, questioningly. 

"I have to use a bit heavier research methods... As God, Merlin or whoever is my witness, I will not shed Lily's blood, even when diluted with Potter's." 

I just could not resist saying that, as I brush past Lupin entering the room on my way out. I summon my broom -an old trusty Starlight, not even the school brooms are this old- and fly out of Hogwarts grounds, almost into Hogsmeade. Then I apparate to a place I try to avoid most of the times. 

My house. 

I cannot call it my home, because the old Snape manor definitely does not qualify as such. But it is my house, where I grew up the first 10 years of my life. Contrary to popular belief, I was not abused in my house, or left to starve, or crucioed within inches of my life, or was otherwise involved in arcane, twisted and occult dark magic rituals. 

I was simply ignored. 

After my mother's death there was hardly any source of cheer or joy in my house. It is a huge house, after all, and not counting the house elves only I and Father lived in it. It housed more echoes and sighs and regrets than any other place I ever knew. At about the age of 6, months after mother's death, I glimpsed Father's odd black tattoo. Then I realised that it was important, that it signified something that was big and dark and terrible. However, I never believed it would touch me in my life, in any way. 

After all, my father never thought me to be important. Curses and charms were important to him. Potions did not chalk up to real magic. And so I was mercifully spared of the darkness even though I felt it closing in as I grew. 

I feel it, even now, after all the years I was away, after all that I have been through. There is so much darkness here, settled like dust on the heavy antique oak furniture, the leather study, the sombre gallery... I could go on and on. But I am not here to reminisce or delve into my childhood, however tempting that might sound. 

I am here for research, and there is only a specific room that interests me. My father's secret, personal library. 

It is a concealed room behind Father's big painting. It is ironic that I was not allowed in this room, ever, and yet the portrait that guards its entrance has both my father, a tall and severe man, and myself at age 10, a rather bitter, introverted little rascal, as I can see by the scowl. 

I speak the password. "Morsmodre." 

The portrait creaks just as I remember it did, and I enter in a room whose candles light up immediately, shedding uneven light on a large bookcase and a black desk. The room sends shivers down my spine, just as it did when I was young. And I pause for a few moments, expecting my father to jump me and curse me out of the room, just as he had done the one night I had ventured in here. 

I had barely recovered in time for King's Cross. 

But this time, silence reigns, and nothing happens. And so I walk up to the bookcase and peer at the row of books for the one I am positive my father should have. This is, after all, a compilation of all the illegal Dark Arts books of the highest quality. My father was always exacting and perseverant in everything he wanted to do. That is one of the few qualities I can claim I inherited from him. 

I pull out a dusty book that feels somehow hostile to my touch, and clammy. It is pewter black, and in slightly off-black letters it reads _Darkness Unleashed: Magic no wizard performs_. 

I look in the index. I find half a page of listings under 'Anima Vaccus'. I smile to myself. 

Finally. 

_______________ 

Yet another chapter up! A bit of sappiness in there, perhaps? Anyway, in the upcoming chapter, we learn more details on the odd charm Harry keeps fighting, and Severus starts to suspect what the entity is. And that perhaps will help him seek out those that can help him battle it. 

Oh and... time starts to run out bout Harry. Don't you just love such sticky fixes? 


	8. Of Rare Ingredients

Hello all! Update again! Hope that 2003 has started off well for everyone. In the traditional Greek wish: May you all have your heart's desire! 

As for my reviewers: 

Lady Lunar Phoenix: You are most welcome. I love to bring happiness even in meagre ways such as this. 

White owl: I am flattered. *bows* 

Lei Dumbledore: Thanks! I try to update as fast as possible. But sometimes it is hard deciding what Snape would and wouldn't do. Of course it is also loads of fun! 

JiM: I am glad you like the story and how it is turning out. As for the spell checker, I know what you mean. It will be my bane! However I have none for english, as all the programs run on greek windows (yes, I am Greek! hee hee). I also do not have a beta reader or time to beta my own texts. I'll try to proofread as much as possible though. 

Zardiphillian Beryllix: I am glad you liked the chapter. As for the creature, it is very, very, VERY evil. The sort of evil that makes Voldemort look like a pouty kid. Where it came from and why it is so enraged with Harry (and Snape), you will have to bear with me until the story unfolds. I can safely say, however, that it is not a creature of the world either wizards or muggles know and it certainly is not taught in DADA. As for promice and promise, I admit that that has always been my bane. The correct spelling is with an 's', but I never seem to get it imprinted. At least I remember to correct my students. *smirk* And by the way, I would -never- toss in the volcano such a capable writer as yourself. When are YOU gonna update? *handles wand with nasty glance* 

JaimynsFire: prod me not, for I will go whine to Snape, and as I am a slytherin, he will be on MY side! *snickers* 

So, as an official request: Beta-reader(s) needed as I have no time to comb through my texts! If you want the position, e-mail me! 

Now on with the story. 

_________________ 

It was almost dusk when I walked brusquely to Knockturn Alley. A bit seedy as always, and dangerous to the hopelessly cheerful, but in general Knockturn Alley was feared much more than it should have been. After all, so many ingredients for very useful potions could be found here. And if you were so stupid as to go about touching things you knew nothing about, then even an hour in a muggle kitchen would be perilous. 

I know the store I walk into well. A small cockroachy man by the name of Zikes is standing behind the counter. He has whiskers like the antennae of a bug that keep twitching in suspicion and mischief. Many times have I felt the urge to stomp on him with my heel, and I cannot say that I am completely free of such fantasies even now. 

Upon seeing me, Zikes comes out of the counter, his tiny, twitching little hands slithering up and down his rather dirty robe's buttons. He watches me cautiously. 

"I'll have what is on the list. Quickly," I tell him, shoving the parchment with the ingredients in his face. He nods wordlessly and skulks away to retrieve the items. Most are exotic and illegal, as they are primary to the brewing of many potions of the dark arts. Which is the reason I came to this place after so long. 

The man stacks the little bottles and pouches on the counter, and I open and sample each one, to make sure that they are either fresh or old enough to be of any use. I hear shuffling and so I raise my eyes from the vial of hag tears. The man is licking his lips, uneasy. I still see fear in his eyes. 

"What?" 

I have no intention of making myself any less fearsome. Fear is good to be caused in places such as this. Zikes swallows. 

"We-we-werewolf b-b-b-blood is ill-ill-ill-illegal," he manages to say. 

I sneer at him. 

"So are the rest I ordered. Are you trying to toy with me?" I make my voice low, subliminal and extremely threatening. Even Lucius didn't feel comfortable when I spoke like this. The man shakes his head quickly, eyes wide. 

"Good." 

The man still stares at me as if I have grown two heads. I scowl. He starts talking. Or producing a semblance of talk through all the stuttering. 

"We d-d-d-don't ha-a-ave it, p-p-...p-p-..." 

Just my morbid, ironic luck. 

"Just get going and add up all these. And just write the total down-- I have no intention of spending here the night waiting for you to get it out of your mouth!" 

When I get back to Hogwarts, Minerva is waiting for me. 

"Where have you been, Severus?" she says in that worried tone I have started to dread. 

"What has happened now? Potter is in the Chamber of Secrets and all the pipes have caved in?" 

"No, no he is with Remus. It is just..." 

"Quickly, Minerva..." 

"He is growing weaker. He can't sit properly anymore." 

I take a deep breath and walk quickly to the Gryffindor Tower, where we have set up Potter. Far be it from the Boy-Who-Lived to live anywhere where it is not crawling with garish reds and golds. 

"That is normal, Minerva." 

"Have you found anything?" 

"Some things. I will not repeat them, so let's go where Lupin and Potter can hear us." 

It was hard reading them. I dread everything that will have to be done in the next few days. I speak the password (golden snitch), and enter the Gryffindor common room. The image somewhat checks my speed, although I do not see anything I do not expect. 

Lupin is sitting at the edge of the sofa closest to the fireplace, holding Harry's head. Harry is lying down on the sofa, with a somewhat laboured breathing, shutting his eyes occasionally, but having to open them again as the sleepless potion demands. He is sweaty and has a fever-- I can see plainly that the boy is burning up. He keeps reaching for Lupin's touch, either against his cheek or holding his hand. 

Remus raises his eyes to me. He looks crestfallen, desperate himself, yet oddly enough hopeful. Blast you, Lupin. Do not place that much faith in me. Do not make me be responsible so much. I am not Albus. I cannot hold all your faith. It will break me. 

To push all the thoughts from my mind, I walk across the room to bend over Harry. His eyes focus on me somewhat. The boy is the epitome of exhaustion and malady. I put my hand against his temple, careful not to touch his bleeding scar or mess up the bandage. He sighs with relief, because my hand is close to ice as opposed to his temple that is scorching. 

"Can you hear me properly, Potter?" I ask him gently. The boy nods. As he tries to reply, his voice is slurry. 

"Yes, professor... I am just so.. terribly dizzy is all." 

"Save your energy. A yes or no will do," I say as I lay down the black book from my father's house and the ingredients I have purchased. 

Three pairs of eyes stare at me with hope, and I cannot prolong what I have to tell them any longer. 

"There is still hope, and there is a way out of your... predicament." I start hesitantly, and wait for reactions. Minerva seems relieved. Potter and Lupin are focused, yet guarded. 

It is obvious who has had a vaster experience with the Darkness. 

"The Anima Vaccus is not exactly a spell. It is an enchantment, which implies that for it to work, there has to be a sublimation of the target's willpower." 

Harry swallows, staring at me more intensely. I nod at his unspoken question. 

"It is a battle of wits primarily, Harry Potter. One that only you can fight, when you come down to that." 

Harry shuts his eyes tiredly. I feel angry at the fates. The boy has already fought for so long, so much. What more does he have to prove to justify this situation? Yet I go on. 

"The fight you will give, Harry, will take place in the plane of spirits. You will not fight with your body but with your consciousness against another bodiless entity that wants your psyche eradicated." 

"My psyche?" Harry asks weakly. 

"It is what we call a wizard's essence, the sum of the person's soul, awareness and memories. In short, all you are." 

There is an uneasy pause. 

"So I am on my own?" he says with bitterness. I know exactly how that tastes. 

"Not exactly. Contrary to the entity after you, you -have- a body, and that gives you an extra leverage. Your body is matter, which in some ways is stored up energy. Energy that your adversary does not have." 

"So how, exactly, do I have the upper hand in this?" he asks with a rather ironic tone. 

I do not like to be reminded of myself. 

"If you do not keep interrupting me, I shall -tell- you, Potter." 

"You will use anchoring potions, Severus?" Lupin suggests. Close enough. 

"In a way. I will make a potion that will link Potter to two other wizards. That way he will be able to have a foothold of some sort, and perhaps allies. Perhaps Potter will need to use knowledge he doesn't have, since we do not know what that entity actually is." 

"How will we go about this?" Minerva asks. 

"I will make the potion first. It requires 2 to 3 days to brew. Then after giving it to Potter, we will let him sleep. Then, it will be up to him." 

I turn to the boy lying on the sofa. 

"Do you agree to this, Potter?" 

"Is there any other way?" 

"You can always go on drinking the sleeplessness potion and exhaust yourself into a coma, whereupon you will have little to no energy to fight the entity with, and it will eat you up for hors d'oeuvres." 

"I agree." 

I am grateful for the dangerous gleam in Potter's eyes. I prefer him combative. 

I nod and get up. I instruct Minerva to make Potter eat properly and help him rest as much as possible. As soon as Harry has his eyes closed, I nod for Lupin to meet me outside the Tower. As soon as we are outside and I have cast an isolation spell, he sighs. 

"Your solution is not foolproof." 

"Nothing about the dark arts is foolproof. You should know that by now." 

"Harry is too weak." 

"He was under three cruciatus when he bent Voldemort's wand to his will. But he loves the attention." I sneer, then stop as my eyes meet the werewolf's. My skin crawls even with the idea that this man can turn into something wild and terrible. 

"What can I do for you?" he asks sombrely, yet calmly. I feel the need to fidget. 

"I need a very... specific ingredient, Lupin." 

There was a reason I always thought Lupin to have been the brains between every single Marauder prank. Except the really crude ones Black tried to pull. His eyes lighten as he understands what it is I am talking about. 

"Is it whiskers or blood you need of me?" 

"I need blood. About 3 standard vials." 

He nods. 

"Let's go do it then." 

"Not as you are now." I shut my eyes as he pales. He understands. Thank goodness, because I would not have asked graciously otherwise. 

"But I have drunk my wolfsbane," he says in a hushed voice. 

"I know. But we can cancel it out. The full moon is tomorrow." 

Lupin nods defeatedly. 

"All right." 

He turns to go back in the common room, but I hold him by the hand. 

"Remus." 

His eyebrows raise at my usage of his given name. I swallow. I am certain the fear shows in my eyes. He smiles thinly. 

"You wouldn't have instructions on how to bloodlet a werewolf while he is a wolf, would you?" I mutter. I swear there is a twinkle in those gray eyes that doesn't quite settle me. Perhaps he is amused that I am scared more than he is. 

"Only one: tie him up before he shifts," he says simply and walks inside. 

I still don't feel assured. If Black were alive, he would have a field day. 

_______________ 

And this is where this scene ends... please, do review. I do seem to use your reviews for fuel, as I found out from those on chapter 7. The more the reviews, the more the urge to write. It helps, and it my only reward, really. So go on. Click on that button. You know you want to. 


	9. Of Werewolves

Hello all! I come to you on the second day of New Year's, not with two turtle doves, but with a werewolf in bondage... get your mind out of the gutter right NOW! *laughs insanely* 

I am pleased to inform that this should have about 2 to 3 chapters more. Just so that you know. If you are hopelessly addicted to Narrator Snape, might as well let me know now, so that I leave room for a sequel. Or you might want to set a challenge for me. I take them all up, unless they involve slash, cos I don't do slash. *chuckles* 

As for my reviewers: 

JaimynsFire: Your wish is my command. 

Joyce: Well, these questions are both valid... and both true. *very evil grin* the highest priority of the creature is to make Harry's body its host. Feeding off his soul wouldn't be a bad bonus either. There is a valid reason for the spirit targeting Harry, and so soon after the whole Voldemort deal... and I have already given you way too many hints. Snape is disappointed. heh. 

Lady Lunar Phoenix: Hm. I DO want to live to see The Return of the King... so I'd better update. But *in a whiny voice* I will tell Snape! 

Lei Dumbledore: Thank you, and will do. 

Krazy Kat: I am so flattered you like my way of writing. I do think Snape is not 100% bastard, and if the HP series were through his POV, I don't think we'd see Harry as such a lovely dear, simply because it would be through a teacher's eyes. I am a teacher. Of course I can understand Snape. hehehe. 

Zardiphillian Beryllix: The battle will come soon enough... careful what you wish for. heh. 

Rurouni Star: Heh... I got stitches for Peeves' hide... heh. But you are lucky and you get an update, barely a day after your review! 

...now imagine how fast I'd write if there were more reviews... hmm. 

_________________ 

It is twilight. I have finished the primary brewing of the potion, and thankfully, it has not erupted or started to give off noxious fumes again. It has been the hardest concoction I have had to brew in my life so far. 

Perhaps because I am making it up as I go. 

I leave the cauldron to sit for the rest of the day, and secure it in the hearth with locking and anti-spilling charms. It is safe. But for further protection, I lock the door to my office, where I have been brewing it, put a charm for unbreakability on the door, then two wards and a password. I swallow. It is safe enough. 

There is a knock on the door. Weak and hurried. I open the door for Lupin to come in. 

"It is probably best if you shackle me now, Severus," he says as he leans against the doorframe. He is pale as wax and sweating, his eyes glowing with the magic of the wolf. When I was a student, I had never imagined what an ordeal it would be to shift every month. I admit that I had never cared; it had never crossed my mind that one of the Marauders, the dream students of all Hogwarts, would be living his own personal hell, just like I was. 

Perhaps that is why Lupin never openly despised me. 

I nod to him. 

"All right. Come in." 

He looks confused. 

"Aren't we going to the Shrieking Shack?" 

I can't help for a small quirk of the corner of my mouth. 

"The Shrieking Shack is for animals, Lupin. Come this way." 

I turn before I allow myself to see Lupin's expression. I can't allow myself to see his expression and in the same time manage to keep mine nonchalant. But I bet he was stunned, because I don't hear him following me before a few moments have passed. I relish the feeling for reasons unfathomable. 

I lead him half a level over the dungeons to an old potions classroom that is not used anymore, and lock the door and ward it behind us. Remus smirks. 

"Our old classroom." 

"Until Potter and Black blew it up and it was deemed too small for 'accidents' where shrapnel rebounds off the walls." 

Remus chuckles to himself. 

"They weren't the only ones to blame, Severus. I recall someone jinxing the cauldron." 

I almost feel a juvenile again as feelings of indignancy sweep over me. I reply as I retrieve the shackles and other things we have agreed are necessary to restrain a werewolf. 

"I only jinxed it to shiver on the spot, Lupin. If they hadn't been so incompetent in Potions, the draft wouldn't have been so volatile as to explode so spectacularly." 

When I face the werewolf, he is still smirking conspiratorially at me. I have to huff to shake off the mood. This is not the time to reminisce, because then inadvertently we would come to Lily, and what happened when I tried to openly befriend her... 

I do -not- wish to remember that. Not now. Not ever, childish as it may sound. I occupy myself with tying up Remus to the wooden pole. He crouches, so that when he shifts he won't be stretched out, and therefore even more rabid. I make as certain as possible that the man is restrained. 

"You did not name the potion." 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"The potion to link Harry to the other two wizards, the safeguard you came up with to protect him from the Anima Vaccus as much as possible." Lupin speaks softly and I am compelled to look at him. His eyes lock with mine. Definitely, Lupin was by far the smartest of the Marauders. He understands. It is uncanny how he can read me when accomplished Dark Wizards, Death Eaters, hell, even Voldemort himself could not. 

"You composed the recipe, just now. You are making it up, aren't you?" he asks with the finality of already knowing the answer. I avert my gaze and do not grace him with the answer he already knows. He remains silent, and in this silence I get on with the binding. 

"I will not use magic bonds unless I have to, Lupin. I don't want to hurt you more than necessary." I tell him at some point. There is such a long silence I give up expecting an answer. 

"This will be the best potion you have ever made, Severus Snape. Trust in your own self," Remus says suddenly, and my heart feels as if hot water washes over it. Damn you, Lupin. Do not believe in me so much. 

When I am done, Remus can't his arms and legs. I have allowed him some slack to move his head a centimetre or two. He is currently leaning his head against the pole, eyes shut, breath becoming erratic. I notice the night outside, and the light of the moon starting to pour in from the small window. 

"Remus?" 

It's the second time I call him by his given name. He doesn't move, but he shivers. 

"Better be ready, Severus... I feel it coming... when you are done... just leave as fast... as you possibly can." 

I ready the syringe. It is a muggle contraption that is, however, very effective in taking or delivering liquids to the human body without magical interference. I know that casting magic against a werewolf in magic form is far more painful than when the target is in human form. I do not want to torture the man. Like me, he already has his own share of that. 

Finally, the moonlight reaches him, and his breathing becomes more laboured and ragged, his eyes blink open, fluorescent and wild as the wolf starts to take over. His hair turns into fur, his teeth in fangs, his nails in claws... he becomes the form that haunted my nightmares until I turned 13. 

I would like to be able to claim otherwise, but my first reaction is to run to the door. I run to the door and try to open it, in wild terror forgetting it is warded and locked, and therefore not liable to open by just putting all my weight on the handle. The growls and snarls and spitting behind me, however, make it difficult to force myself back into my late thirties and not remain the terrified twelve year old that had to be yanked away from the sight by another, equally frightened peer. 

There is rattling of the pole against its holds on the ceiling and the floor. More growling and spitting and snarling, as the wolf with the glowing fur is trying madly to get out of the restraints. I shut my eyes as I turn from the door to face it-him! I have to remember that this is not... what I feel it is. And neither of us is going to die tonight. I am only here to harvest an ingredient, in slightly precarious circumstances, like so many other instances. I force myself to open my eyes. 

I am rewarded with the pleasant surprise that the wolf is far smaller than I remember it. I assume that things look far larger to 12 year olds. Fleetingly and completely unexpectedly I wonder if that is the case with me and my 12 year old students. The thought makes me indignant enough to return to my current self and control, and push the fear to a side I can safely ignore so that I can function. 

I approach the glaring werewolf armed with my syringe and reassured with my wand up my sleeve. Its catlike, silverish eyes glare at me and focus at my throat, not my eyes. That is most unnerving. 

"All right, let's do it," I tell the werewolf, as I approach even more. The werewolf's enraged, livid movements to be released increase to the square, and foam comes from his mouth. 

Quick is the word. 

I virtually stab at the werewolf's neck and squeeze out a full vial. The beast is rabid, and the pole rattles more and more, as the growls and barks and roars culminate. I step back. That is one vial filled. I need two more. I wait for a while, to see if the werewolf will calm down at all. 

No such luck. 

I approach again and stick the needle in for another dose. It is not easy to keep a steady hand as the creature is turning and shivering and shuddering and beating against its bonds- his bonds!- to free himself. 

Unfortunately, he achieves it just as I pull out the needle. I find myself on my back, blinking blood away, holding up the second vial of blood. The werewolf clawed me across the face. The terror that washes over me cancels out my anger. I pick myself up. The smell of fresh blood has made the wolf even crazier. 

But I need the third vial. 

"One more... just one more," I mutter to myself as I wipe the blood to the side, and approach once more. But this time, the werewolf has one front leg free and is swiping at me all the time. I remove the cloak. I do not want to be caught because of that. I circle around the beast. I wish I could just stab him in the hind quarters-- but it is not certain I will get a vein. The werewolf is now swiping at the other bonds and throwing its weight against the pole. I ignore it. I prepare the last vial, attaching it to the syringe and approach. 

I plunge the needle right behind the werewolf's jaws. My heart is pounding in the same rate as my head as I watch the dark crimson blood enter the vial. It is all I can do to keep my hand steady. Froth from the snapping jaws spills on my wrist as I pull the syringe out, my task done. 

And as I step back thanking my fortune for coming out of the situation relatively unscathed, the wooden pole shatters. 

Wood. I should have thought about that. It should have been steel. 

I jerk my hand forward and my wand drops to my palm, as the werewolf charges me. 

"_Stupefy!_" 

I stay looking at the ceiling between a pair of furry ears. Panting, I dare to glance down. Remus Lupin's fangs are millimetres from my larynx. 

That is definitely what I call a close call. 

But I have the three vials, and time is running out. I call McGonagall and Sinistra, and tell them what to do to aid Lupin after his transformation ends, so that he will recover as fast as possible. I have urgent work to do. 

I run to my office where the basic potion is waiting. I pull out three more cauldrons and separate the basic draft in three equal amounts. I wait until they are almost to boiling level, then add the werewolf blood, one vial to each. The potion turns a dark red. I swallow. So far, nothing is out of the ordinary. 

Minerva comes to my office door. 

"Severus." 

I look up at her. 

"You ought to get that checked. You don't want your blood dripping in your draft." 

I feel ashamed for not thinking that. I should have thought of that. I should have thought of the pole. I should have slept at least an hour these past 2 days. I should have... I should have... 

Minerva's voice is heard from very far away. No.... must stay awake... cast a freeze spell... need to brew all this... 

"Fine Severus, I .... will not spoil, go..." 

And darkness. 

__________ 

Whoa that was something to write, wasn't it? Now reward me! *points to the button* click on that! 


	10. Of Possible Ends

Hi again. *looks around at all the glares* whaaat?? Ok, so I am late! Complaints, to -him-! *points to a sulky Snape* He wouldn't talk to me! 

That and I had school curriculi to cater to. But I am here now! 

Before I start the usual routine: 

**I wish to thank my Beta Melanie, who has betaed everything INCLUDING this chapter. She is truly a remarkable assistance. If only my other colleagues were like that.**

As for my reviewers: 

Rickman's Girl: Thank you very much. Here's some more! 

Kari: Yes, I think there will be no surprises there. Thank you :) 

Lady Lunar Phoenix: Hey... I am Slytherin... with loads of work! Of COURSE I will do that when it is not holidays! hehe. But I shall not quit on you all, which is what counts. As for noticing that Harry went to Snape first, I don't know. McGonagall has Dumbledore's office, which is probably quite a bit away as well. But interesting point. 

Sevrin: Here's some more. Thank you for your comment :) 

Zardiphillian Beryllix: Severus would not be Severus if he didn't get a potion correct...eh heh... *low throaty chuckle* As for Remus, he is sweet, and a dear. *hugs him* And I will write a sequel, if there is something to write. I shall try to leave it open. Ideas would be welcome. 

Purple water: why thank you. 

Tabitha: Tire of Snape?? Don't you know what happens when you enter in a cooperation with Snape? *L* you don't stop it, he does. So no chance of getting tired, no. But for a sequel, I shall have to have a reason to write it, or Snape will sound like an old man with boring stories to tell. heh. 

Now on with the story 

__________________________ 

When I wake up, the feel of the bed tells me that I am in the infirmary. Touching my temple, I feel the claw marks gingerly. The memory of the previous day and night comes back to me instantly. Bloody werewolf. I should have bound him magically. 

I make myself get up, and focus on that activity. I have found by earlier experience that dwelling on the 'should have' level is extremely bad where psychological well-being is concerned. The new mediwitch of the infirmary is a short, skinny woman that looks like an army officer. She bears down on me like a Valkyrie. 

Wherever do you think you are going, Severus? she asks in a squeaky voice. It vaguely reminds me of extremely frightened rats. 

About my own business, as should you, Paloma. Now go bother someone else. I sneer at her and use my 'nothing doing' glance on her. She doesn't look fazed. What the problem is with nurses, I shall never understand. They have an abnormal defiance of everyone that is unfortunate enough to be in the premises of their reign. 

You are my business, Severus. I shall not have you collapsing in some corrosive potion's cauldron because you have not had enough sleep. 

I have had quite a bit of sleep, thank you. I get up, thankful that I am still in my black shirt and trousers. Fortunately the new mediwitch has not thought up Poppy's trick of stripping me down to the barely essentials and hiding my clothes, therefore making it considerably harder to leave her... overeffusive care. 

I walk towards the exit, and I catch sight of Lupin, looking emaciated, sleeping in another cot. I stop abruptly, and the fussy matron that was following me almost bumps into me. Turning around, I point to Lupin. 

I will send you a special potion for him, when he wakes up. Force it down his throat if you have to, but as soon as it is in his system, do not -dare- not to discharge him and send him to Gryffindor Tower. Did you get all that or do I need to write it in simple words and bright colours? 

Paloma goes bright red from anger, ambivalent between hexing me and following my instructions no doubt. I have always indulged in doing this to nurses, ever since my younger years... perhaps as a payback for being so military and fearless. I do want her to opt for obeying me, though, so I play a card that can't lose. 

It is imperative to save Potter's life and sanity, Paloma. I am sure you can see the priority. 

She bites her lips, frustrated that she has to obey me. I smirk inwardly. Gets them every time. Potter's name is a virtual passkey. 

So I go first to my Potions cupboard, and get a stimulant that is strong but unobtrusive with other potions or magic. Then call Winky and I instruct her to take it up to the infirmary and make sure Paloma understands it is for Lupin. I need him strong. I go to close the cupboard, but then hesitate and open it again. Hell, I need myself strong as well. I swallow another vial of the same stuff. Again I go to close the cupboard, and again I hesitate and open it again. I grab another vial and finally do close the cupboard door. Potter could use some extra strength too. 

Upon entering the Gryffindor Tower, the heat and medicinal smell that have come to reign the past 3 days hit me like a shockwave. Minerva is sitting at the couch with Harry, who looks considerably ill but definitely not crumbling. Weasley is sitting opposite Harry, playing a game of chess. I see the red-haired boy is desperately trying not to wipe the floor with Potter's behind. The Boy-Who-Lived is useless in strategy, apparently. All three turn to look at me. All hopeful, Minerva a little fearful. 

When I approach more and the light from the fireplace and the candles lights my face, the two boys stare at me as if I grew two heads. 

Your face, Professor... Harry says as if in a trance. I don't like the hue of his voice. The boy is weak and tormented. Not good for what he will be called to do. But I dare to even so believe in him. 

Albus did, so why not I? 

It will heal, Potter, so cheer up. You will still be the only one with a scar at the visage. 

What I say makes him laugh. Weasley laughs too. It is a nice occurrence, a remark of mine not to be taken the wrong way. But I am under the impression that anything I might have said remotely funny would have set them laughing. They need to laugh so much. 

Minerva comes to me. 

Has it turned mauve, Minerva? 

Yes, Severus. I followed all your instructions. You needn't fret so much. You ordered me to chill the potions and leave them to sit even during your sleep in the infirmary, she says amusedly. 

I am tempted to smile, but I don't smile, it is simply not done when there is the possibility of impeding doom just around the corner. So I huff and walk past her to Harry. He watches me, as does Weasley. 

How are you feeling? 

Pretty good, Professor. 

Don't fib to me, Potter. 

In that case, bloody sore and sleepy, and dizzy as hell, Professor. 

Weasley sighs. I turn to him. 

Weasley. Go to the dungeons, but do not, I repeat, do NOT even take a step towards my office. Get the desks out of the way, and light a fire at the fireplace there. Make sure it is as hot as it is in here. When you are done, call us. 

The boy nods and goes to do as I say. Rather meekly, I should think. I take his seat opposite Harry and Minerva who has sat at the sofa again. Lily's eyes pierce through me again. In any other time I would have felt at least uneasy and irritable, but this time I am thankful, because they are bright and piercing and not glassy and foggy. Minerva has done an excellent job in preparing the boy and charming fatigue away from him. 

It is almost over, Harry, I begin, but before the final stage, I have to teach you a spell. 

The countercurse to Anima Vaccus? 

No. There is no countercurse to that because it is of the same nature as the killing curse. But I will teach you a shield, and a curse. 

That's two spells. 

Potter, you are trying my patience, I growl, but Minerva's warning glance checks my speed. 

What is the curse, Professor? 

It is called Diessolva. It is quite close to being dark, because on living creatures it is irreversible. 

For some time Potter hesitates. I think he has some intelligence to realise that the curse is not close to Dark Magic... it -is- Dark Magic. I am afraid that he is going to ask me that, but thankfully, he asks something else. 

And what does it do? 

It basically causes a high state of entropy in the matter to which you direct it. 

I might as well have spoken in Chinese. I click my tongue at the boy's expression. Minerva comes to his rescue. 

It makes the molecules of an objects spread radially and equally through all the space, she says gently. Harry thinks on it, then says quietly: 

It pulverises. 

You could put it that way. Get your wand. 

But I am not fighting matter. 

Energy is matter, Potter. Even muggles know that. That Einstein almost nailed it. 

The boy wordlessly gets his wand out. Minerva leaves to charm the dungeons, as Weasley announces he is done. I nod to myself and take my own wand out as well. I am going to arm the Golden Boy with the deadliest magic I and Lupin can think of for that nebulous son of a bitch. 

Point your wand to that cushion. With a jabbing motion, say '_Substantia Dissolva._' 

Harry tries the motion first, and I correct him until I tell him it is satisfactory. Then at the first attempt, the boy says it with a steady voice and a quick jab, dissolving half the cushion. I am impressed. He is a fast learner after all. Just not in Potions. 

It takes only 5 more tries to get the charm down to perfection. I look at his satisfied expression at success, but also at his chest rising and falling as if panting. I do something I never have done. 

Well done, Harry. I'd say 10 points to Gryffindor, but you probably don't care at this time. 

Maybe it was not a good idea to tell him. He is staring at me as if the world crumbled around us. But then he smiles softly and says in a voice I strain to hear, Coming from you, Professor, it is a real treat. 

And I have seen it all. A too-cheerful voice from the portrait hole. Lupin. He always has to come at the most private of moments. As if Weasley wasn't enough to do that. I turn and glare murder at him. He looks his usual beat up, rough around the corners self. He chuckles at my glare and comes forward, passing a hand through his hair. He peers at me. 

Geez, did I do that? 

There is no other with nails manicured to a fine point, Lupin, I growl at him, and he looks a little chagrined. Good. I like it when people feel sorry for causing me harm. They usually feel satisfied, or happy. 

Make yourself useful, Lupin. Teach Potter the Astral Shield. I will go finish the drafts. When you are done, bring him down and join us. 

Of course, Severus, he says in an overdiligent voice, especially intended to spite me. I leave with a growl. Then the thought strikes me that maybe I am growling more than Lupin does, in total per month. That is a really, really disturbing thought. 

And it sounds too much like something Albus would say, too. Merlin help me. 

When I enter, the Potions classroom looks truly like what it had once been. A dungeon waiting for dramatic things to occur within it, mainly the type involving a lot of torment. I shudder, although the heat in there is similar to that of the tropics. Weasley has moved away all the desks and shrunk them so that they would fit on a stone shelf at the back of the room. 

There is a large soft square, like bedding of some sort. I look at Minerva questioningly. 

I transfigured it. I expect that one of the three of you will need to use the floor, she says flatly. 

I nod and go to the three cauldrons, which by now are a pinky shade. I add Phoenix Tears to the one intended for Harry. Of the last Fawkes shed for me. To the draft for Remus I add Hag Tears and to the one for me I add extract of asphodel. I nod to Weasley and Minerva, and we all stir for a few minutes. My breath catches, mentally counting the seconds... what if they don't shift? what if not all of them shift? what if I made an error? There will be no time to brew it all over again, no more werewolf's blood until a whole month passes... Harry will be dead by then! 

One cauldron's contents shift to pearly white. Remus' draft is finally ready, waiting for only one more, catalytic addition. I glance fearfully to the other two. Harry's then shifts to a clear transparency, and I feel I could dance for joy. The reactions so far have been as I hoped, as I had calculated. 

Then finally, my draft shifts to a milky white. I swallow. Mine is ready as well. Offhandedly, I think to myself that an article about this would easily land me the title of the Most Brilliant Potions Master of the Century. I could even get a Famous Witches and Wizards card: Severus Snape, Turncoat Death Eater, Discovered the alternative uses of different kinds of tears to the same draft. How marvellous that would be. Just another delusion of grandeur, right up there with the Order of Merlin. 

I breathe and cast a freeze spell to the cauldrons. They should not ferment or sit anymore. I realise my back is so sweaty that my shirt is sticking against it. Oddly enough it is the only body part that will sweat at stress or heat. Perhaps because subconsciously I do not wish for any drops to fall from my forehead when brewing, and my organism has taken the message. 

I look at Minerva and Weasley. 

The drafts are ready. We are all set, and waiting for Professor Lupin with Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley, please go out and charm the door sealed when they arrive. Should everything go well, I will open it when we are done. If not, before opening the door, cast a charm to protect you from the noxious fumes. Do you understand? 

The boy nods and swallows. He opens and closes his mouth. 

Then why are you trying to imitate a goldfish? 

I...uh... sir I'd like to tell you that I... I really... 

I don't need this right now. I can't get into that mood. 

Thank you, Mr. Weasley. Now kindly shut it and go wait outside, I tell him dryly and he almost yelps and exits. I breathe. Minerva chuckles. 

Everything will go well, Severus. 

Is that an official prediction, Minerva? 

I prefer to call it 'woman's hunch', she says quirkily. 

We sit in silence until finally, Harry walks in, helped by Lupin. The door closes and a soft sucking sound tells me Weasley has already sealed it. It has begun. Harry seems to depend on Lupin's guiding hand on his shoulder for balance. But otherwise, the boy is determined, his jaw set. Good. 

Bring forward your forearms. Harry, you first. 

You'll take my blood? 

Not all of it, so don't give me that look. 

I am not entirely certain why he is so reluctant to have a few drops taken from his arm, but perhaps a paper thin scar I glimpse as I use the syringe on him has something to do about it. I do not care at this time. I add three drops to Remus' pearly white draft, after I remove the freeze charm, and it hisses, turning orange. Very quickly I add another three of my own, and it turns a bright gold. 

Drink Lupin, chop chop. I tell him and he complies, drinking a ladleful. 

I then go to mine and add another three drops of Harry's, then three of Lupin's. My draft turns a bright green, and I drink from it quickly as well. 

Finally I add three drops of Lupin's and three of mine in Harry's draft, and it turns a bright red. I take the ladle to him, and he looks at me once before drinking it to the last drop. I help the boy lie down. The sleepless potion had not been administered today, and it is almost night again. 

Sleep, Potter. And use all your knowledge. We'll be there with you if you need us. 

Harry removes his glasses, his eyes already heavy with sleep, both natural and induced by the spirit waiting for him. He looks at Remus and smiles, then at me and smiles some more. 

I need to tell you... that if this is the end, I am glad to have known you. Thank you for everything--even being a hopeless git at times, he says, and he falls asleep before I have time to reply to him. 

Gods. This cannot be the end. I definitely have to cash in on Potter's sentiments, and I can't do that if he dies. Or... I just really want the brat to make it, so that more little brats with Lily's eyes might walk this earth, and her line not be lost. 

I look up at Minerva, whose eyes are glittering. 

Okay, cast the activation charm, Minerva. Upkeep it at all costs--and I mean it when I say it. 

I turn to Lupin, who is looking at Harry with one of the most tender expressions I have seen on human faces. 

He looks at me. 

It's all or nothing. And we are all risking our lives. But the best way I can put it, is that I am glad I am risking it along with you. 

There is silence for a while as Lupin's eyes seem deeper and far more turbulent. I can't stand a gaze like that for too long; I somehow fold, and say the first thing that comes to mind. 

That does NOT mean I like you. 

Remus bursts into laughter, and I have to join. It is good to go with laughter, if go we must. Then the charm that activates the potion hits us, and the material world washes away. 

________________ 

phew. Well, that was long. Late but long. I apologise if you get bored with it... but wow! It is more than twice as the usual stuff, and it's not even Christmas! 

Oh and, the next chapter is the ... *drumroll, deep scary voice* _final one_. 

Now, I expect double the reward I usually get. So go on, push that button and make my day. Please. *pause* Pretty please? *pause* SEVERUUUUUS! MAKE THEM! *whiny voice* 

.... and while you are at it, please tell me *grins cutely*WHAT RNRNRN MEANS! *grins cutely* 

okay, that was really batty. Heh. Till next time, folks. 


	11. Of Definite Beginnings

Hello again. *Severus mutters and sits down indignantly* Yes well. *happy smile* after a bit of... persuasion, on my part, I and Severus come to you with the final part of this chapter in Snape's, Harry's, Remus' and everyone else's post-Voldemort lives. Should you require to learn more, tell me as much, and what you would -like- to learn... *glare from Snape* heh. 

As for my reviewers, please go to the following author's owl, to find replies to your messages. If I have forgotten anyone, please feel free to holler. At him. *points to a Snape with curled upper lip* heh. 

I have to thank you for reviewing here, though. I absolutely love you. But now, I want more! heh. If I manage to reach 80 reviews, I will post another story within the week. Is that a good deal? No? Oh well. But thanks all the same :) 

WARNING: This chapter has a heavy dose of the surreal. Enter at your own risk. 

Now on with the story. 

________________________ 

At least, it doesn't feel like Crucio. It is a feeling of careening into empty space, with no reference of high or low, left or right, up or down. Just a continual pivoting sensation that someone is spinning me around and around until I feel like disposing of every meal I have ever had since infancy. 

After a while, I get used to it. My stomach stops being bothered, and since I can't see anything but pitch darkness around, I start to wonder that perhaps I botched the potion, or Minerva botched the charm, or both. Which is not entirely the best thing one can think of so that one's composure may be kept. I feel the wave of panic swelling in me, threatening to surface and overwhelm me. 

Mercifully, just before I start to virtually scream my head off in terror, I hit some kind of ground. Hard and unceremonially. Looking around when I dare to lift my head, there are flashes, there is lightning and a multitide of surreal colours. There is pain all around, agony and suffering, somehow stored up in this place that we have followed Potter to. 

Slowly, the surroundings materialize more. It would resemble a meadow of purplish-dark blue ground with little blades of grass that disappear in puffs when one steps on them, as if they are made of smoke. From the sky, if one can call it that, one can see thin wispy ropes dangling high, out of reach, evasive and silvery-looking. I am shocked to see that one such silvery rope starts from my heart and shoots upwards towards the dome. I do not dare allow myself realise the significance of the thin, silvery rope, and what it connects me to. I am scared enough as it is. Around my wrist is a golden round rope-thing of the same quality as the one that binds my heart. I instantly know exactly what it is. James Potter's wizard's bond. There is also another that is far thicker and quicksilverish-- Albus'. Somehow their presence there on my wrist aids me instead of hindering me. I cherish these bonds. I would never want them gone. 

Finally my attention is drawn fully towards the lightning, flames and thunder by a high pitched scream as well as an eerie malevolent aggressive wail. I run towards there and suddenly materialise, as if I went through an invisible wall, Potter, and the entity that had been plaguing him for the past days. 

I have a sickening sense of deja vu... 

Potter's projection in this place, plane, dimension, whatever it is we are in, is glowing with a warm golden aura, and the thin rope connecting his heart with the surreal sky-like dome and beyond is glowing gold. He looks beat up, weary and thin and in the same time powerful and unbeatable, just like in the last stand off I had witnessed between him and an agent of evil. 

His adversary is a blurry haphazard, slightly human-like form that is thrashing, trying to reach the boy's soul. Dark, crimson like glowing orbs somewhere in the head area of the creature -- its eyes-- remind me... 

"Voldemort?" I hear my voice carry over in this place without any effort. 

I am certain that both heard me-- Potter flinched in surprise and relief but did not turn his gaze to me. Good. It would be very ironic to have come this far only for Potter to make an error in tactics. The nebulous humanlike creature does not take me into account. It spits and hisses and says words in random-- some english, some egyptian, some gaelic, some sanscrit. 

The creature is ancient. Just like the spell it continually tries to cast on Harry. But the golden shield around the lanky Gryffindor is not waning. Lupin did a good job teaching the Astral shielding charm. Livid, the creature circles and tries to engulf Harry and his shield and tighten around him like a boa constrictor. At least that is the idea that I gather from the sight and all I am feeling. 

"Severus, we are standing here while that- that creature will devour Harry!" 

Lupin. Where did he come from? He wasn't standing near me, fretting and fidgeting a few moments ago. 

"Well what do you suppose we do? Have you noticed that we have no wands?" I reply to him, a bit scathingly I have to admit. He bites his lips, circling around the mass of creature-golden shield and Harry in the middle, trying to understand. Offhandedly I notice that he too has his heart connected just like I and Potter do. 

I already hate this place. 

As an answer to my question, we both hear Harry's voice, loud and strong: 

"_Substantia Dissolva!_" 

I know I am staring in surprise, and I bet that Lupin is as well. Harry Potter is using his own arm and hand and fingers as a wand, and the spell erupts from the boys' oustretched fingers towards the nebulous mass surrounding him. 

The creature sees it and moves lightning quick, unwrapping itself from Potter's shield and dodging the crimson lightning. It wails and screeches, and I see that some of its nebulous substance has been blown away. Its screeching becomes louder, and Harry staggers. 

"What is happening?" I hear Lupin try to yell over the racket. 

The creature screetches even more, and Harry presses his hands to his ears, crying and moaning, sinking slowly to his knees. I am not entirely certain what it is it is doing, but I am not going to allow it. I start running towards the boy and the creature, and Lupin mimics me. It is odd and frustrating, but we never seem to manage to gain one inch more in proximity, as if we are running on a conveyor belt of a muggle airport. Harry is shivering, and his shield is dwindling, the rope connecting his heart losing in brilliance, and the creature is coming closer and closer, relishing in the boy's sorrow and dispair and agony. 

And suddenly, I realise that in this place, it is not physical proximity that counts. I realise that although my perception still translates everything in terms of bodies and distances, in reality our bodies have been left behind-- and that is exactly what the wispy thin line connects my heart to. I stop trying to get close to Harry. I start trying to figure out how to help him in his struggle-- in a struggle he is clearly losing at the moment. 

The boy is curled up in the fetal position and is crying, as the screetching never ceaces. The wails and moans the creature emit chill even my soul. I can only imagine what effect it has to Harry, who is the creature's target. 

"Severus, positivism! We have to channel positivism to Harry, to strengthen him!" Lupin says in an agitated, hurried voice. The werewolf is correct, I can feel as much. But me, positive? A more preposterous idea cannot exist. I have long since forgotten how to be positive, how to let my heart be warmed, let alone how to warm it on my own. How am I supposed to be able to warm someone else's now? 

I watch as Lupin takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes, opening his arms in a wide embrace, palms ouwards, towards Harry. His hands glow with a light orange tint and grows and grows around him. I watch as the silver thread connecting him to his body becomes slowly orange gold, much like Harry Potter's is. It is not long before Lupin is glowing with a warm feeling I know I have experience of, but somehow I cannot put a name to at the moment. 

He opens his eyes, and the dark entity turns to look at him for a second before the wave of energy rushes around Harry like a protective cloak, and the boy stops moaning, taking breaths. Harry opens his eyes and holds the gaze from the crimson eyes of the Dark creature with new courage. 

The creature is mad with rage. And it turns towards Remus, spinning him like a tornado before he had a chance to protect himself. Harry screams at the sight, a scream of rage and guilt, but does not dare cast Diessolva now for fear of the spell hitting Lupin along with the creature. 

What shall I do? How can I be positive? Merlin help me... Albus... anyone! 

_Think about what you felt for Lily... what she felt for Harry..._

Unthinkingly, I grasp my wrist where the two wizard's bond's are, and I think of Lily. How she was kind, how she was firm in her decisions, how she was willing to give everyone a chance.... 

... how she did not loathe me. 

I know what it is that Lupin banked on. I know what it is because I experienced it in my life and I can appreciate its rarity and value. I felt it for Lily. She felt it for Harry. Albus felt it for me. 

"Think about everyone that has ever loved you, Harry-- call upon their love, and you'll be strong!" 

It is ironic-- even downright funny that I, Professor Severus Snape, former spy and Death Eater, all around icy, unfeeling bastard, to be saying such a thing. It really is. Out of nowhere, I feel mirth, but that too, is highly positive. Harry watches me, surprised. 

My hands are glowing with the white light of a ferocious fire. My thread becomes bright white-golden, and I feel strong. I mimic Lupin's gesture, and send all my love at the creature with a vengeance. For Lily, who never was to be my lover or my wife, but she accepted me the way I was. For Harry who can never be my physical son, but can accept me as part of his life and family. For Lupin even, who chose to befriend him after I had betrayed and belittled him. For James, who made Harry and thus gave me a chance at absolution. And primarily for Albus, who gave me a chance to be reborn. 

The creature screetches again but it is feeble, resembling scared, ratty squeaks, as it tries to avoid the glowing mantle of positivism I circle it with. Harry mimics me, and proceeds to support me as I support Lupin who straightens up and with renewed strength attacks the creature. Together, we create a unit that is not vulnerable. The creature distances itself further away from us, making feeble attempts to breach through me and Lupin and so get to Harry. 

"Now is the time, Harry," Remus says to the dark-haired continuation of the only woman that ever reached me. Harry says in a strong voice 

"_Substantia Dissolva_!", and this time the beam of crimson hits the creature, which screeches, but throws a shield. Harry is forced to upkeep the spell, which would normally drain him, but now Remus and I are supporting him, and he is strong. 

For a while, there is a stand-off, a wavering of powers, between Harry Potter and that mysterious creature. Then it speaks, in all our minds. 

_You think you can defeat me. They all do, but I always prevail, and I remember those who oppose me and the receptacles I choose. So I shall remember you, Harry Potter who killed my last receptacle, and you, Severus Snape and Remus Lupin, who helped him do it. I shall conquer in the end!_

Then Harry replies, disregarding my order not to talk to it. 

"Good has existed before you, and will survive you. There is no way you can win!" 

What he says enrages the creature of course, but it also makes him lose some concentration. The creature is given one last chance to escape the terrible dissolving curse, and lightning quick it dodges and flies upwards towards the dome. 

But Harry Potter is the best Seeker Gryffindor has ever had in centuries. He bellows the curse again and aims, and this time the creature is hit full force without a shield, and it is split with a horrible shudder of all the surroundings in one large and several smaller nebulous parts. Apparently Potter was not accurate enough after all, because the large part of the creature careens towards on a wispy, golden thread with intelligence that implies that it was wounded badly, but not completely destroyed. 

The wispy, golden thread is severed as the wounded creature passes through it, then grabs onto one of the silvery ropes higher up on the dome and disappears. Harry gasps, falling back as if someone let go of pulling him, and loses his colour. Literally. The boy becomes white, gray and silver, as befits a ghost. Remus screams in dispair that he can't die, and he grabs at Harry as he starts floating away, the gravity of this surreal place not affecting him anymore. 

"Hold him -here-, Remus!" I hear myself yell as I think of a levitation spell and cast it. I too careen upwards, my eyes fixed on a dwindling golden thread that is becoming shorter and shorter. I can hear the creature cackling somewhere, but I cannot see it and I frankly do not care. I reach out, to grab the golden thread. I shall not let Potter's life slip through my fingers. I will not allow it, and will do anything to achieve it. 

My fingers close around the thread, and instantly I am jolted as if hit with electric current. For a period of time, it is all I can do to hold on to it and not let go to avoid the pain and shock of Potter's protesting, dying body. 

Then I soar back downwards, pulling the line with me with as much force as possible. I am almost there. Harry's silver form is limp and floating. Not again. Not again! Remus is frantic, watching me approach. I suddenly stop, as if I met against a brick wall. It takes me a few moments to realise what is happening. 

Minerva is not upkeeping the charm anymore! Our bodies are re-claiming our souls, pulling us back. Mine and Remus', that is. 

"Lupin! Minerva's stopped the spell. You will have to come up to meet me, NOW." I bark at him, and he complies, somewhat involuntarily, as he starts being pulled upwards. I am resisting all I can, thus managing to remain at one fixed point between the dome and the ground. 

Remus floats up to me, and I grab on to Harry's soul. 

"I can't resist, Severus," he says in agony. It is not surprising. He spent more energy than I did before. 

"Don't resist it, Remus. Go wake up. Help Minerva bring Harry back, and I will help from here." I mutter as I desperately try to find a way to re-attach the thread to its rightful owner. 

"But..." 

"You are of no more help to me or Harry here!" I snap at him, and he wordlessly allows to be pulled upwards and through the dome. At least Lupin will make it back alive. 

I focus all my energy on resisting the ever-growing pull of my body and in the same time try to convince the spirit of the Boy-Who-Lived to get back its goddamned thread. 

"C'mon Potter. Come ON, Potter. Show me how to help you." 

Unfortunately, no such help comes, nor does any kind of divine intervention happen. I feel myself slowly being pulled. My energy is dwindling, and I feel cold. I pull Harry with me, and with my one free hand I hold him close to my heart in my first voluntary hug. I complete the embrace by wrapping his soul with my other arm, the one holding the thread, and stay that way as tight as possible. 

"Please, Harry. Live." 

I don't know if I spoke that or I thought that, but it was the strongest wish I had made in ages. 

I feel one of the wizard's bonds untie and leave my hand. I peer at my wrist over Harry's silvery shoulder. It is the golden one that has unwrapped. 

James. 

The small golden wisp floats from my wrist to Harry, and enters his spirit. My heart skips beats, and I feel a hesitant, reluctant joy creep into my soul as slowly, the golden glow shows in the boy's chest and expands more and more until all of Harry is indeed golden. The golden thread I had been holding escapes my grip and re-connects to Harry's heart as if drawn there magnetically. With a jolt, the boy is pulled from my grasp and speedily goes through the dome to the body that hungrily claims back its owner. 

Harry is alive. Who cares about anything else. Who cares that I feel cold and faint, when I am so filled with joy? Who cares if my thread has no more energy left to pull me back? 

Surely not I. 

I shut my eyes happily, content to have done what I did, content that finally my debt to James is repaid, that he has released me. Perhaps now I will be at peace with him. I know I will. Then suddenly, abruptly, my body starts spinning madly upwards, roughly, re-aquainting me with the nauseous feeling that I had experienced upon my arrival here. I moan this time. I am too tired to put up with it, and I am not afraid of what I might have to face anymore, and so I allow myself to think and feel no more.... 

.... 

....... 

........ 

...._is respoding now, Paloma..._

__

_...of course he would shiver..._

_....he is probably -listening-. I can feel it..._

__

__I choose not to open my eyes. Everything touching me feels solid once again. Too solid, perhaps, because I hurt everywhere, and I am so cold. 

"I know you are awake, Professor." 

Oh, shut it, Potter. 

"That is not too polite, is it, Professor?" 

That compels me to open my eyes. Did the boy just read my mind? I find myself looking into Lily's beautiful sea of green-- only it is Potter's set that is featuring it. The boy is smiling down at me, all rosy and energetic. A nice sight, but I would prefer to sleep some more. He smiles. 

"There you see? That was not so bad." 

Did I imagine it, or can you hear me think, Potter? 

I watch the boy strain a bit, his eyes unfocusing just a little before he laughs under his breath and smiles at me. 

"I can hear you think, Professor, but only when you want me to." 

I cannot possibly imagine when I suddenly wished for Potter to be able to hear my thoughts, but I let that pass, and ask a rather more interesting question. 

"How?" 

"I think it has to do with you reconnecting me to my body." Harry says quietly. A shadow washes over his face, but it is gone as soon as it appeared. I can feel him think about the pain and the agony of watching me struggle and being unable to respond, and of his fear of me letting go and leaving him there in the dark place with the dome of silver threads. 

"Bah, Potter. You should know better by now. I am too stubborn to fail." I tell him gruffly and he smiles warmly at me once more. Then I realise that one is missing. 

"Lupin?" 

"He is teaching class, Professor." Harry says with a grin. "The students are back, you have been in a semi-coma for 2 weeks." 

I groan and try to get up, then realise that I am not wearing much. Drat. Paloma discovered Poppy's method. Harry's eyes are twinkling. 

"Professor McGonagall has been teaching Potions for the while you have been busy. Of course the whole affair with the creature is kept under wraps-- and naturally.." 

"...the whole school knows.." I say mournfully. Harry laughs again. 

"Oh you aren't really sad. You are a hero all over again. Oh, and you are also Deputy Headmaster. Professor Lupin suggested there was no other better to fill that position." 

The boy has a sadistic streak, most definately, for dropping news of this gravity on me without warning. And not only that, he leaves laughing his heart out at my expression, and Paloma comes down on me with menace only nurses have. 

It is good to be back to normal.... 

Not. 

_~~Finis~~_

__________________________ 

And this is another story done! *confetti, streamers, disco music* Of course, the dark creature was not completely distroyed... and since it pulled on a random thread and disappeared, we all know what that means... it possessed someone! *dark voice* _it will be back for more..._

That is, if you wish. And there is only one way to tell me this. *Snape points to review button* 


	12. Author's Owls

*dips quill in ink* 

_Dear reviewers..._

Lady Lunar Phoenix: Last chapter. Enjoy! As for your first of comments... heh. Snape holding a whip might not be a deterrent for some... *snickers* 

sevrin: I am glad you liked it so much. :) This is the final chapter, but don't dispair! I -can-, under certain circumstances, be persuaded to write yet another sequel. 

netrat: You are probably right, although I do not recall where the all-powerful Mistress Rowling might have mentioned that. If so, adjust ages to fit. 

Joyce: Here it comes! 

JaimynsFire: ah, you shouldn't complain, you get more Snape of my style than anyone else, hehe. I am glad you like my Remus, too. 

purple water: Sadly, Sirius is dead. That was covered in the first story of the 'End' series. Thanks for clearing up the RN for me :) 

Tabitha: Actually, it was meant to stop quite a bit before the point that I did end that chapter... but sometimes Severus just won't stop talking, or will stop too soon... heh. Anyway, it ends there because it ends a thematic unit. Just as all the chapters do. I am glad you liked the length. I hope this one is the same. Only Severus knows! hehe. 

oneofakindwolf: Thanks! Here's more! 

Rickman's Girl: Amazing! I mean, that you would be worried that Severus makes it, but not mention Harry making it. A very interesting occurrence... 

Melissa Lupin: Thank you! 

hobbsey: I am glad you approve. Snape is much more interesting as a multi-dimensional bastard as opposed to a one-dimensional bastard... heh. I am flattered that you are willing to review without a pay-back hehe. But pay back I shall, according to fanfic topic. 

Gaimana: Snape fans unite! Press the all-mighty Rowling to give him more depth! Eeeee! 

Anoni: Yes, Einstein was a muggle, though he was bizarre enough to pass off as one of us wizards and witches *L* Yes, this chapter has to be the last one for that story-- but worry not, this -story- doesn't have to be the last.... 

t.a.g.: Thanks! *gives Snape token-potion for locking you in* Now you hurry along and update as well! 

Zardiphillian Beryllix: Yes, I do believe that Severus actually has a grudging fondness for every single professor in the school (save the DADA ones...), and now that there is little reason to pretend otherwise, eh, he allows some of that true sentiment to trickle in his usual countenance. I would be really worried about Harry myself! Hehe... thanks for the compliments. *will not mention about you not updating... or growl about it* 

_love to all,_

_Tantz_

*closes inkwell, dries quill* 


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